What Makes a Man
by endlessly wandering
Summary: But that boy became a man, whether I was there to witness it or not. And it's in that time where I think Soda lost it.
1. Chapter 1

_Apologies for the super long wait in anything from me. These past four months have been so busy for me with school and everything. But I'm back and ready to give you at least a little something!_

 **WHAT MAKES A MAN**

 _PART I_

He's not a man; just a boy.

That's all he's ever been—all I've ever wanted him to be. A simple, hard-headed boy. Never a cold, taunted, wrecked man.

But that boy became a man, whether I was there to witness it or not. And it's in that time where I think Soda lost it.

I think that's where he lost how to be a human being.

* * *

Something about Soda coming home makes me nervous.

I'm not too sure what it is that makes my stomach drop as Darry pulls up to the airport. Maybe it's excitement; maybe it's dread; maybe it's sorrow.

* * *

None of us wanted to go to Vietnam. It was just a luck of the draw; whoever the goddamn government was feeling to send away at that particular moment. Every day, we'd sit and wait for the mail truck to pass by the driveway before dashing out and grabbing whatever papers were in the box, and on a cold New Years morning in 1969, Soda was the first to get his letter.

For months, we waited for someone, anyone to get a letter. Steve cursed under his breath when he would find his mailbox empty. Two-Bit shrugged and muttered something about how it would be his time when it was his time. Darry nearly punched holes in the walls every morning for six months when all the Air Force letters were coming day after day, directed to Soda and not him.

The day Soda left, I watched Darry cry all the way home. I saw Darry take down the century-old drawing Soda had drawn him and stuck in his room when he was seven. I saw him take all of his clothes and throw them in the basement, sobs wrecking his body to a withering piece of flesh and bone.

And I prayed Soda would come home to restore what was lost that day. I prayed he would come home to save us all from the grief and destruction we would come to bring upon ourselves. Each one of us would nearly take a full bottle of pills, a shot gun held to a temple, or a knife held to our wrists or throats in the coming five years.

We all had a breaking point. I could only hope Soda didn't find his too soon.

* * *

Darry's hand clamping down on my knee brings me back. Back to the car, back to the winter snow glistening off of the cars before me, and back to Darry's question he's been asking me all day: "You sure you can do this?"

I nod, swallowing the lump in my chest. It only sinks to my stomach, though, and threatens to make itself known in vomit. "I'm sure."

Those lovely green eyes stare back at me, and I can't help but wonder why I had to fall for the brown-eyed drop out when I could've fallen for what was right in front of me. "Ponyboy would kill to be in your place right now."

"I know," The image of the youngest Curtis hissing and clawing Darry in an attempt of pleading and begging wraps around my mind. "But you did the right thing by not bringing him here today."

Darry's eyes break from mine. A storm of doubt swirls behind the black sea of his pupil. His hand squeezes my knee once more before he's climbing out into the snowy wonderland, coming around to my side, and opening my door. I step out, feeling the chilly breeze hit my face with astounding speed, and can already tell how numb my body is going to be with each step I take.

I let Darry lead and force myself not to run as he looks back at me and says, "He'll be ecstatic to see you, Sandy."

I can only hope I have the same feeling when I find him through a crowd. If I find him at all.


	2. Chapter 2

_Back with another installment! Thank you to lulu and Happier for reviewing. :) This is kinda mushy and gushy and lovey, so if you don't like that, sorry. XD It's what I was feeling in the moment. What can I say?_

 **WHAT MAKES A MAN**

 _PART II_

He promises me he'll come home. He's gonna come home to be with me; to love me and to marry me. That's what he has always said he was gonna do—-that's what I've held on to for the last five years.

But I'm scanning the crowd. I'm looking for him, peering around Darry's large form in front of me, looking for those warm brown eyes and that soft, innocent face I've come to know, and I don't see him anywhere.

"Maybe he isn't here."

Those four words coming from my mouth have Darry turning towards me with ferocity in his eyes. A thin layer of grief hides behind that ferocity—-Darry's typical Superman move. Always has to be the hero, always has to save the day.

"He's here," he murmurs, taking note of how people are lightly shoving past us to get to their own soldiers. With a grunt of aggravation pointed in my direction, he tosses over his shoulder as he turns around, "I'll wait until the pits of hell open for me."

Except for today; he might not get to be Superman in this moment. Perhaps his brother has taken his place.

* * *

 _"Why can't I go?"_

 _"You know why, Ponyboy. For one, you have school, and two––"_

 _"I still don't understand why_ she _gets to go over me."_

 _Darry's eyes turned to me, standing only a few feet behind his younger brother. Pony was shaking, clearly overwhelmed with his own emotions combined with both of ours. The room was seeming to close in on him, but only him, and I could tell that it only worried Darry more. Pony hadn't dealt with Soda leaving at all; the effects of his older brother, his closest ally, leaving him was still damaging what sanity he had left. "Sandy, get in the car bef––"_

 _Pony suddenly rounded on me, hissing with tears in his eyes. "How dare you take this opportunity from me?"_

 _"Pony," I began, but he cut me off with a snarl._

 _"He's my brother, for God's sake!" He turned his head towards Darry, glaring at him through the corner of his eye. "I need to go."_

 _"You're not going," both of us said together. Darry and I looked at each other as Pony started to rip at the seams, tears running down his face and staining the carpet below his feet._

 _Carpet that he watched his brother walk across to leave, and carpet he wasn't sure he'd see Soda walk across again._

 _But eventually, Pony wrestled with his inner self, his anxiety, and allowed me to follow Darry to the truck._

* * *

I blink, and suddenly I'm back in the airport, surrounded by people and sights and sounds.

But none of them are him.

I can tell that Darry is beginning to become disheartened as well. His shoulders are sagging; his eyes are still roaming, but they're slower, less occupied. He's had more hope than I ever have, but it's fading and he's at war with himself over it. Over the option to stay and watch, or to go back home, where his baby brother is waiting for the favorite, where Darry will again be tossed to the side.

And for a split moment, I think I see happiness crawl across Darry's hopeful stare.

But then the happiness completely engulfs his gaze, and a grin manifests itself on his face as Soda's body crashes into his in an embrace. And I watch them; I watch both brothers rejoice at the sight of one another, watch Darry start to cry like he did when Soda left, only it's out of gratitude now.

"Thank God," I can hear Darry saying through the material of Soda's uniform and between sobs, "Thank God you're home."

And from where I stand behind them, hidden, Soda's eyes fall on me, and in an instant, everything falls to nothing but him and me. He breaks away from Darry as if he's not even there and comes to me, and I'm beyond elated the moment his lips touch mine. It's felt like decades since he's held me, felt me, kissed me; even if it was only for five years.

It's been the longest five years of my life.

"I'm home, San," he whispers against my skin, and I do as Darry said:

I thank God.


	3. Chapter 3

**WHAT MAKES A MAN**

 _PART III_

"He's different."

Darry speaks around the chunk of cake in his mouth. "He's just dealing with a lot."

I poke at my bit of cake with a fork, sweeping some of the frosting off. I think of Soda's eyes, such a deep and dark pit of wonderful, and it saddens me to know that those same eyes are crazed now. "Why won't he tell me? Is it something—"

"It's not you," Darry interjects sharply. His eyes fall on mine; a hollow storm of green. "He's just come home from war, Sandy. War, where it's shitty and dark and muddy and the people want to kill you whether you're on the same side or not."

"We had sex last night," I blurt, and Darry just about gags. "And it was a hell of a lot different than any other time."

He jabs at the air with his fork in my direction, swallowing as he says, "Is that where that came from?"

For some reason his question makes my insides burn, and I hastily cover the upper half of my body in the blanket I have wrapped around my midsection. A feeling of shame passes through my veins as Darry's eyes still rest on my collarbone, where a small bit of a bruise is beginning to form.

"Maybe," I mutter, pursing my lips. Soda's never manhandled me before—most definitely never during sex. It's not normal for him to be that rough, that powerful; and if it hadn't been for how goddamn good it felt, how high I was on just having his skin pressed against mine, I would've said something. But all I could do was lay there, in the throngs of ecstasy and passion, and let him tear me apart like I was a piece of meat and he was a rabid dog.

Darry's quiet for a moment, his eyes moving from the bruise to mine. He's about to say something when the door to Soda and Ponyboy's room opens and Pony comes out, ragged and disheveled, throwing himself on the couch. The light snoring that comes from the living room tells Darry and I that he's fallen asleep, perhaps for the first time this morning.

"He's fine, Sandy," Darry assures me as he rises from the table, taking both of our plates. "Don't worry about it."

And though I know he means well, though I know I should listen to him, the worry still comes. It comes hot, burning, soaking into my skin like fire. I can't shake it, but I won't let Darry see that.

I come to my own two feet, thank him for the cake, and slowly walk past Ponyboy into the room he shares with a soldier.

* * *

Soda's crying when I walk in, a small shaft of light reflecting on the tear that rolls down his cheek.

For what reason, I'm not entirely sure. But I can only settle down on the bed beside him and take hold of his hand, the only part of him I can truly touch without him flinching.

I've never seen Soda cry. I've seen him get angry; I've seen him get drunk off his ass; I've seen him happy and high on life. In all my years of knowing him, in all my years of loving him, I've never seen my strong, beautiful boy cry.

And it kills me to see it, so much to the point where I'm finding myself laying against the pillow and bedsheets with Soda's head in my lap. So much to the point where all either of us can do it cry in the darkness that surrounds everything. So much to the point where Soda is whimpering to himself that they're not coming home, he's not coming home, no one's coming home.

I know he'll wake up one day to better things. I know he'll wake up one day to grass springing under his feet as he dances with me. I know one day I'll have my loving, darling, irresistible, happy-go-lucky boy.

"Soda, honey," I whisper to a soft head of hair but to no response. "You're home."

Through the silence, his disappointment of being home is what deafens me.


End file.
